From my WIP…
The older woman observed her closely. “Tell me what happened, child. Tell me what happened to have you marry a man you clearly do no love, nor like.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in the old, wooden chair. It had seemed like a waste of breath to tell her tale only moments before. But now, with a chance to be heard, to be reassured, and perhaps even to receive some sound counsel, she was beginning to change her mind.
“Mr. Wickham took it up himself to kiss me at a dance and we were observed by my mother,” she spat out in a tight cry.
Mrs. Hanks clucked her tongue. “I wish I could say I was surprised. George Wickham is nothing but a liar and a cad. But your mother? Did she not wish to cover the whole thing up and spare you?”
Elizabeth let out a resentful laugh. “Oh heavens no. She saw it as an opportunity. She had my father and uncle make Mr. Wickham marry me. The words she used… The way she exaggerated what happened… And my father believed her!” She was becoming agitated now. Holding all of this emotion in had been so difficult and now it was overflowing from her. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hanks. I do not mean to burden you.”
“Oh, hush, child! You do no such thing. I only feel pity and a wish to help you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There is no help for me. I am either ruined or married to a wicked man. There is no in between.”
Mrs. Hanks pressed her lips together, observing the despair in Elizabeth. “You are in the in-between right now, my dear. You are not ruined and yet, you are not burdened by the presence of your husband. You are, perhaps, as free now as you may ever be again. So, let us use this time to help you. I can teach you to cook, to hunt for rabbits. I can help you adjust to your present situation. You were raised a gentleman’s daughter, but we both know those skills will have to wait for now.”
“How does one do it?” the younger woman asked. “I confess, Mrs. Hanks, it is not so much my present situation that concerns me. You are here and even if you were not, I would find some way back to my parents if I had to. What concerns me is when Mr. Wickham—my husband—walks through that door and I must resign to my future as his wife.”
Mrs. Hanks said nothing, only patted her on the hand.
Elizabeth continued, emotion still stuck in her voice. “How does one live with a man she does not love?”
The older woman breathed in and offered a resigned smile. “My dear girl, women have been doing it thus since the beginning of time. I fear you are not special in this regard.”
Elizabeth laughed at this. Mrs. Hanks was correct, of course. Though it had been her most fervent wish to marry for love, it was perhaps an ill-informed one. Love was elusive—especially for a woman in her situation. Still, she knew Jane would marry well and so always imagined herself living with her and helping to raise her nieces and nephews. It both pained and amused her now that she had been so naive.
“You are strong, Mrs. Wickham.” said Mrs. Hanks. “Any fool can see that. May I ask you… was Mr. Wickham unkind to you…after the wedding?”
It took Elizabeth a moment to catch her meaning. “Oh,” she began quietly. “For reasons I do not know, Mrs. Hanks, I have spent all evenings and nights since my wedding in my own chambers—alone.”
The older woman nodded. “I see,” she said. “Well, I suppose that too explains your fear of his return. It is the fear of the unknown.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Yes. ’Tis true,” she said.
The silence hung heavy between the two women until Mrs. Hanks stood. “Well, my dear. I see you have found parsnips. I have some chicken bones back at the cottage. I shall send my daughter, Hannah to bring them to you. Then you will have a proper soup.”
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